


Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Lover

by DecayingLiberty



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abduction, Agent!Courfeyrac, Alternate Universe - Hackers, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Con Artist!Grantaire, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hacker!Marius, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Past Character Death, Suicidal Ideation, not a happy ending not a sad ending - just an ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecayingLiberty/pseuds/DecayingLiberty
Summary: Courfeyrac gets abducted and Marius saves him.





	Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Lover

Grantaire has been right. In his field of work, Marius could not afford to get attached because as someone hunted by several governments it would make him easy to spot and any relation to another might not only endanger himself but innocent bystanders, too.

Usually Marius is good at following the unofficial codex and rules that they have established throughout the months that Grantaire had taken him in but usually he has not been attached since —, well, they do not talk about that. But infatuation is a fickle thing that is unpredictable and clouds the mind and Marius has been inattentive and walked into it with eyes wide open. He is angry — at them for taking Courfeyrac, and at himself for letting this happen in the first place. Grantaire is not pleased with him but Grantaire has no right to judge him for this. Grantaire is a hypocrite.

They want a ransom.

And it is not money they want because everyone can get money. They could have taken any child with rich parents. No, what they want is far more valuable: information. The kind of information that only those possess who interfere with government businesses. The ABC agents sit in his neck, demanding that he fix this because they have not gotten the equipment they need from their higher ups, and it would be so easy for Marius to trade the information he has for Courfeyrac and let the ABC deal with it, if it were not for the fact, that Courfeyrac is one of the ABC agents.

Marius has not much to go on and his time is running out. The only thing they send him is a voice recording of Courfeyrac and Marius has tried to track it down. In fact, he has tried for days now, but the line is secured with a system that seems vaguely familiar yet unusual that none of Marius’ keys match.

Usually, Marius would trust in Courfeyrac ability to fend for himself until help comes but the recording has made it clear that Courfeyrac is not well. It is a trap. Marius knows because they have left some coordinates and a time and place, and he could just wait but the ABC is adamant that he stay and find those bastards before the time comes. It has been hours since he last moved from his spot amongst his equipment that only because he needed to.

Some time on the third day, Grantaire comes and takes over, allowing him a few hours of restless sleep where the sound of Courfeyrac’s voice, hoarse, laboured and broken, echoes in his ears, amplified through the headache and auditory hallucinations of his tired brain. When he is too restless to sleep he listens to the recording over and over again, trying to remember what Courfeyrac’s voice sounds like when he is not in danger — a warm and bright and pleasant tone, not too grating, not too loud — and holding onto the thought that they will not kill Courfeyrac if they still want information.

Courfeyrac’s presence lingers in his apartment. A personalized mug hangs above the drying rack when he brought it over one day in order to personalize Marius’ apartment, over the sofa lies a flannel shirt that Marius borrowed once and never returned, on the coffee table a fashion magazine with colourful bow ties and suspenders, and underneath the table, as Marius knows, hides a gun. Courfeyrac had smuggled it from the ABC to him, in case he needed to defend himself.

A part of him is angry that he has let it come that far, angry that he has let Courfeyrac into his apartment, into his life. It has been a selfish decision and Courfeyrac is paying for Marius’ mistakes. Nothing in the world is worth Courfeyrac’s safety. Not the kisses, not the soft touches, not the dates under starry skies.

Angrily wiping the tears from his burning eyes, Marius turns to make himself comfortable and closes his eyes.

His computer gives a soft ‘ding!’ and Grantaire punches the air in tentative victory.

The recording plays again, this time from his computer instead of his phone, tinny, broken, hoarse:

“Marius... I’m — please come get me.”

 

* * *

 

Marius takes the gun and inspects it, dissembles and reassembles, taps, pulls, turns, until he is familiar with the weight of it in his hand and knows every little scratch and imperfection. An hour has passed since they have found the trace.

“You’re not reporting?” Grantaire asks.

Marius does not answer and loads the gun instead.

“Marius.”

“This is personal,” Marius says.

“No, it’s not.” He places his hands onto Marius’ to stop him from moving. “You can’t go alone. It’s dangerous.”

Marius glares and Grantaire glares back, not relenting. He wants Marius to understand, wants him stop for a second and think. There certainly are better options, better ways to get Courfeyrac back. Heading head first into a Den of Lions is not. But Marius does not want to understand. Grantaire sees it in the way he lifts his chin just a bit defiantly, and how his stare is hard and his face impassive and cold.

Marius pulls away from Grantaire’s touch, places the gun on the table and checks his remaining equipment. Then he counts the things he has packed. He adds a cable and a lighter.

“I will be fine,” he says. “There’s no need for you to worry.”

Grantaire can list fifty reasons on the spot why worry is absolutely appropriate here, his less rational thoughts excluded. He wishes Marius could see, he wishes he could break through that stupid head of his, could rip off the rose-coloured glasses that clouded Marius’ judgement. He is a hypocrite for that, he knows. Marius has no reason to listen to him.

“But I do worry, okay?” Grantaire says instead. “You could die.”

“So, what?”

The words are aimed to hurt and they sure did. Ice chills Grantaire to the bone and makes the blood freeze in his veins. He suppresses a shudder because they had talked about this once, long ago. Only then, it had been Grantaire who wanted to go head first into certain and Marius had been the sensible one.

Grantaire remembers the first time they met, and Marius has been a lost kid, on the run from his grandfather after losing his fiancée in a terrible accident, with dull eyes and empty smiles, and carrying all his possessions in an old backpack on one shoulder and walking on the fence of a bridge.

“You are going to fall,” Grantaire had said.

“So, what?” Marius had replied.

They don’t talk about the rest. It is an unspoken rule that everything that happens in the past stays in the past and even though they know of each other’s, they rarely bring it up. It is not relevant to what they do, and they would like to keep it that way.

Back then Grantaire had been able to do something. Back then, Grantaire had grabbed Marius by the arm and had yanked him back to safety. Now, he could not do such thing. He could only watch helplessly as Marius zips up his bag and leaves through the door.

 

* * *

 

Marius is not stranger to field work. He knows how to aim, how to shoot and how to reload. He knows how to hide his tracks and merge with crowds. He could name the exact parts of the body that guarantee deadly wounds and he has every intention to make use of that knowledge tonight

Or today.

Marius has been on his way for almost two hours now and for the moment he is hiding on a roof of a building close to his destination, resting his tired feet and eyes for a few minutes, setting up all his devices and preparing all his weapons. The trace has revealed itself to him well after midnight, he is not surprised to see the sun dawning with the first streaks of lilac on the horizon. The buildings are nothing but dark silhouettes against the deep blue sky and Marius lifts his head from where he has crouched over his device to lessen the strain on his neck, stretch his stiff shoulders and breathe in the fresh cool morning air.

This mission is different.

In this mission, he is alone. There is no support from afar. no one is calculating new escape plans for him, no one will cover him if he is caught in combat. In this mission, he is alone because he has to be. It had been his fault that they had taken Courfeyrac, because of his foolishness and his clouded judgement. But if this relationship with Courfeyrac has lead to foolish decisions and risks of safety, then he might as well continue. He is too far gone to stop now. He will get to Courfeyrac. He will save him. One foolish step at a time.

It’s what he has to do. Without him, Courfeyrac wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Marius had been careless back then, had been blinded by pretty eyes and charming smiles. And this, this is the Universe punishing him for falling in love, for knowing better and still walking into this mess with eyes wide open every step of the way.

When Courfeyrac is safe again with the Agents of the ABC, then he won’t need Marius any more, as Marius won’t need him. They will part ways, Courfeyrac as an honourable agent of an underground organization, and Marius, a criminal living in the shadows.

And that, Marius thinks, is how it should be.

He pulls Courfeyrac’s shirt closer to himself as the cool air breezes past and breathes against his hands to warm them up a bit. Courfeyrac’s scent is fading from the fabric, only a faint wisp of familiarity, as it is slowly replaced by Marius’ cologne and the suffocating dust of the city.

The city shows first signs of life as the street lamps turn off one after another, and while Marius watches the single cars and hurrying pedestrians below him, he suddenly realizes how lonely he actually is.

 

* * *

 

The building is four stories tall, and guarded by two men at the entrance, four around and on the building itself and two on patrol around the fences that surround the property.

Marius has successfully snuck in between the gaps of their vision, hiding in the shadows and having the sounds of his steps drowned out by the noise of the wind and the street nearby. A scan of the building suggests that they are hiding in the basement — his stomach twists uncomfortably at the implications of that — and their gear has been installed a bit higher up, in the second story.

Marius has managed to take hold of the control room where they have put their gear — two guards lie unconscious by the door — and he takes out his own devices to render the system useless. He waits until the procedure is complete, even if he doesn’t want to, even if he wants to get to Courfeyrac as soon as possible. But he waits because this is their ticket to safety and he can’t risk Courfeyrac’s life more than he already has.

The lights start flashing, announcing that the procedure has been completed. Marius makes a few adjustments to the code, then he takes his bag with his weapons and descends to the basement.

 

* * *

 

The iron door is imposing and heavy, yet Marius could hear the voices from the other side, muffled and indistinguishable, and at times, laughter which made him indescribably angry.  How dare they be able to laugh when they are the ones who least deserve to? How dare these vile men enjoy their lives? Marius wishes with all his heart that they will suffer..

He readies his weapons, checks, loads, checks again. The bulletproof gear he has nicked from the ABC headquarters shifts against his clothes, unusual and rather form fitting but he could move fine. His modified wristwatch flickers, telling him that there are five people on the other side of the door, four at almost full capacity and one with dangerously low energy.

At the next bout of laughter, Marius barges in.

He kills the first one by the door, a clean shot to the head, before the men have even realized that Marius is there. He tries not to think of the horrible satisfaction he feels as the body falls to the ground with an unpleasant dull thud.

The next two charge at him, wild, enraged and screaming loudly in anger. Marius ducks from the oncoming fist and it collides with metal door that has just fallen shut behind his back, leaving a dent very noticeable dent oat the position that Marius’ head had been at a fraction of a second ago.

Without hesitation Marius twists out under his arm, smashing the man’s head against the metal door in the process and with his freedom back, he aims at the man’s head but before he could pull the trigger, he is yanked away and thrown across the room. He collides with the bars of a nearby scaffold, breath knocked out of him, and his whole body bruised. He falls to the floor and groans. His gun clatters a few metres next to him.

Marius feels heavy steps on the floor beneath him and he rolls aside to avoid another fist aimed at his head. The momentum of charging leaves the attacker unbalanced and before he could prepare another attack Marius jams a taser to his side. The man convulses and falls.

Another descends on him from above, yelling, knife raised, and Marius scrambles to his feet, and makes a run for his weapon but the attacker lands with a loud thump and takes hold of one of his feet, crushing Marius’ ankle with an iron grip. Marius yelps as his bones make a cracking sound. His guns lies centimetres from his grasp so he kicks the man’s chin with his knee, and cursing, the man lets go of him. Now free, Marius grabs the gun and fires a bullet between the man’s head. The man stops but before he falls he raises his knife and lodges it into Marius’ side. Then the man stops moving, his weight lying heavy on Marius’ bruised torso.

Marius pushes the body off of him, stumbles away and takes a few breaths to calm his erratic heart. His condition is not the best, he knows, and storming into a fight while running on three hours of sleep doesn’t help that. His side is aching but he is not done yet.

In the few seconds of reprieve, he is finally able to scan the room with his own eyes.

At the other side of the room, there’s a slumped over figure tied to a metal chair, face obscured by dark curls, and his heart stutters because he would recognize these curls anywhere — even if they are hidden by the half-shade, even if they are matted with blood and dust.

Marius feels nothing but a rage that is cold and silent.

Time is slowing as he gets to his feet, and the pain is nothing but a dull ache in the back of his mind. His eyes and mind are focused on Courfeyrac alone as he walks towards him as fast as he can. If he could get to Courfeyrac, if he could get him out of here, then Courfeyrac would be safe. Courfeyrac would be safe and would recover... a few more metres, a few more steps and then —

The last man who had been guarding Courfeyrac the entire time now has turned his attention towards Marius and charges forward. It was not a smart move. Marius could think of at least three other ways the man could have reacted but he is not complaining. The man sees an injured and weak boy, quickly taken care of and barely threat, despite the evidence of three bodies in the room. It suits Marius just fine. Underestimation has always worked in his favour.

There’s a gun shooting at him. He feels the impact of the bullets against his body. They are uncontrolled and aimless and their backlash makes him stumble but he keeps going because what are bullets to Courfeyrac’s safety, and hands raised to protect his head, trying to see and keep track of the attacker’s movement through the hail of bullets. Most of the them fall to the ground, deflected by the Kevlar suit and they will leave bruises but at least they are not piercing him. He marches on.

When the man is right in front him, barrel raised and out of ammunition, Marius yanks him down by the collar aided by the momentum of the attacker putting all his balance forward and slits his throat with a knife the took from one of his attackers. There’s is no remorse. There’s is no second guessing of what he has done because it  has to be done. Marius doesn’t watch the body fall to the ground, instead, he drags himself forward, balancing on his good food, hands pressed to gash on his side to keep it from tearing further.

His watch beeps, announcing in that the room is clear and in red flashing letters a reminder to seek medical help. Marius pays it no mind.

Time resumes its course again

 

* * *

 

There’s commotion in the room.

Or Courfeyrac thinks there is. It is hard to till with the blindfold and the ever constant throbbing of the blood rushing through his ears. His head is swimming and consciousness comes and goes. It is hard to tell if he is fainting or not with constant darkness over his eyes. Sensations seems far away. The wires cutting into his wrists and ankles, and the bruises and cuts all over his body.... they all are just dull aches. He is floating, ungrounded, because the ground is tilting and twisting.

Nothing feels real.

Nothing is real.

Time has stopped somewhere, he cannot tell if it had been weeks or days or merely hours since they have taken him because by the time they have replaced the zip ties he had broken for the second time now with wires, Courfeyrac had stopped counting because he had been too focused on not moving too much as not to damage his wrists more than they already are.

He is dizzy again.

The loud noises are too much for his brain and he wants out because the ground is shaking and rumbling and oh god, it will crumble away under his feet He tries to struggle away but there is no energy left in his aching and numb limbs and his head is concussioned with his brain running in circles, breathless, unrelenting, nauseating.

Suddenly commotion stops.

Silence.

In a way, silence is more dangerous than noise. Noise is loud. Noise gives clues and answers to the future but silence, silence means nothing, silence means hiding, lurking. As an agent, Courfeyrac has learned how to use silence as his weapon, how to slip through the cracks and walk between the lines, how to tuck himself away into the shadows. Silence is your greatest ally, your best protection, they have said.

And yet, this silence is unknown, threatening.

Uneven steps.

Death is not a faraway thoughts in his field of work. Death is ever present, always waiting at your side. Courfeyrac has made his peace with it, working with Death breathing down his neck, at every turn, at every decision made in the fraction of a second. One mistake. A wrong step, a second too late, a slip of the tongue — not more and everything would be over. But it had been all right.

Courfeyrac has always imagined that he would leave this life kicking and screaming. Or at least, fighting for something he loves. Maybe even surrounded by his team mates of the ABC, a weapon in his hand, standing, exhilarated and breathless from combat. Glorious and tragically heroic.

He is not heroic now. He is bound and captured, a civilian victim of an abduction. Of all the scenarios he has imagined, this is none of them. And yet, here he is. Alone, unarmed, defenceless. As an agent, he should have been able to defend himself, should have paid more attention. There are many mistakes on that particular night that he can recall...

And the biggest mistake of them all — no.  Marius was not a mistake.

Courfeyrac refuses to think that what they had is a mistake. No.

He has risked everything for this. For every moment, every touch, every kiss. He has broken rules and rejected missions, he has gone against the entire ABC... and he thought that it was safe, thought that it was enough to be under the protection of the ABC, thought he could protect them both.

But now it is clear that he couldn’t.

He failed.

There are not many things he regrets in his life, and right now he doesn’t wish to think of them, yet as the uneven, clunky steps come closer, he wishes that he had had more time.

Courfeyrac has never been afraid of death, having come face to face with it more than he is comfortable with, but right now, as the steps stop right in front of him, his heart is beating erratically against his chest.

Delicates fingers touch his cheek and Courfeyrac flinches away, childishly pressing his eyes together behind the blindfold, bracing for pain, for the final blow but instead —

“Come home with me,” Marius says.

Then, the world falls into nothingness.

 

* * *

 

Marius moves quickly enough to to catch Courfeyrac’s falling body but the added weight agitated his injured leg and the gash on his side. Marius winces and tightens his grip on Courfeyrac. Now that he has gotten to Courfeyrac, now that he knows for sure Courfeyrac is alive, he has to make his way back to their apartment.

He stands up, carrying Courfeyrac’s entire weight on the side of his good leg, ignoring the burn of the gash, and slowly, more slowly that he would have liked, drags them both towards the metal door. One step. Then another. It’s easy. Yes, it should be easy. Marius may not be the strongest but he can do it. He should be able to. It isn’t difficult. He got this.

Step. Step. Adjust. Step. Breathe. Pause. Adjust. Step. Step. Pause. Breathe. Adju—

Courfeyrac’s weight lies heavy on his side. With one careless step on his injured leg, he slips, loses his balance and they collapse to the floor. Marius tries to shield Courfeyrac from the fall, holding him close and twisting them around until they land on the floor, Marius on his back and Courfeyrac on top of him. He feels the gash on this side burning as the air is knocked out of him.

He closes his eyes against the strain of keeping himself together and upright for a moment. He wants nothing more than to lie here and sleep, holding Courfeyrac close, and when he wakes up they are safe again, safe and healed but reality does not work in this way. In this, he is alone, and he must bring it to an end by himself. Not for him. For Courfeyrac. He needs to reach the exit, needs to reach the door, the stairs... but he can’t.

His tired sleep deprived mind is telling him to stop. He is cold, and injured and his limbs feel weak from the after effects of the adrenaline. As it is slowly ceasing, the pain starts setting in and he feels the searing pain and distracting throbbing and the ache of a hundred bruises on his skin.

Something wet and warm seeps through his shirt and Marius scrambles to adjust both of them to an upright position. There, where Courfeyrac’s hands have rested on him, a deep stain of blood has bloomed. Marius carefully rolls the sleeves back and gasps when he sees the damage the wires have left.

“No, no, no.”

Marius takes the knife and cuts into his grey sweatshirt. His trembling hands are more of a hindrance than any help, but he wills them to stop trembling, forces them to hold still so he could work. He wraps the scraps around Courfeyrac’s wrist carefully, trying to stop the blood from oozing out of the wounds.

“Open your eyes, open your eyes!”

This is bad, very bad. Marius wishes he could refuse to believe that it is happening but he can’t. He had to stay level and to focus, so he can save him, but Courfeyrac is unconscious and Marius cannot estimate how much blood he has already lost. He can’t do more than to bind the wounds and hope for the best.

“You will live, you are going live. You will be safe, okay?”

A sob bursts from his mouth. It was an unexpected sound but now that the first one has come, it doesn’t stop. Tears gather in his eyes and Marius wants to shout, wants to scream. Everything seems hopeless. His composure is breaking onto him, leaving the gates open for feelings and thoughts he has so carefully tucked away. All the dread and despair bursting out at once, taking over him, making him panic. Marius tries to lift Courfeyrac up again but his limbs are too weak to carry himself, let alone Courfeyrac. They collapse to the floor again.

“You’re okay, you’re going to be okay, you’re okay, just open your eyes, please, just a bit, open your eyes, please, Courfeyrac, open your eyes. For me, okay, for me?”

He knows that words are useless now. He knows words cannot save them as words have doomed them. Every  “yes” and every “soon” and every “I love you” — mistakes. All of them.

“Open your eyes, Courfeyrac, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, open your eyes, wake up!”

He cannot save Courfeyrac. It’s over. He has gotten so close and now when he has almost done it he has failed. It is all his fault.

Marius holds onto Courfeyrac’s still form, face buried in the weakly heaving chest to muffle his cries, and he is 19 again, back at his grandfather’s mansion, weeping, crying for someone who cannot answer him.

He does not know how much time has passed when someone storms into the basement and pulls him away from Courfeyrac and Marius his thrashing and crying as someone carries him outside until he passes out in arms that seem so very familiar.

 

* * *

 

Beep. . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

Courfeyrac opens his eyes.

The room is uncomfortably familiar, not in the unsettling way, but in the way that Courfeyrac has spent more time in this room than he would have liked.

There are three stains on the ceiling, one in the shape of cat, the other of a rabbit and the last, something that maybe would have passed as a star. Courfeyrac knows that the right side of the bed frame had noticeable dent, and in the wardrobe to the door, there lies a collection of punk rock albums. The curtains are drawn shut, and the sun shines through the orange fabric, giving the room a soft warm light that reminded him of old movies from his childhood. Courfeyrac can hear the birds sing over the constant beep of the monitor. For a hospital room, it seems strangely idyllic.

There’s a shirt on the chair next to him. He vaguely remembers the last time he has seen it, burry flashes of colour, comforting hands, glinting metal and someone shouting.

Then the memories hit him and he tries frantically to get up

“I wouldn’t do that,” someone to his right says.

Courfeyrac turns to see Grantaire sitting at the opposite wall, leaning back on a chair and feet resting on the nearby table.

“What are you doing here?” Courfeyrac says, or he tries to but all that comes out is a dry croak.

Grantaire hands him some water, which he gulps down and he repeats his question.

“Marius asked me to be here.”

Courfeyrac can’t help but smile a little the mention of Marius, even if he feels ridiculous and inappropriate for it, considering the situation they are in. He can’t wait to see him again, to hold his hands and kiss the earnest expression off of his freckled face — but speaking of...

“Why is Marius not here himself? Is he hurt?”

Grantaire flinches a little. “He’s... well, he is okay.”

“That’s great! That’s good!”, Courfeyrac says but Grantaire doesn’t seem to share his joy. “Is it not?”

At that, Grantaire neither meets Courfeyrac’s, nor does he speak. Courfeyrac senses something terrible.

“Grantaire,” he says slowly, “Grantaire, where is Marius?”

Grantaire puts his feet to the ground and faces him, eyes closed and pinched together as if he has to think really hard about what to say next. The bad feeling in Courfeyrac’s gut worsens.

“Look,” Grantaire says, “it’s not my place to say...” He picks up the bundle of the red plaid shirt that Courfeyrac has given Marius once, long ago, and hands it over to Courfeyrac. There, atop of the neatly folded garment is a letter, addressed to him in Marius’ sleek and elegant handwriting, sits an envelope. “It’s best you read it in his own words... I’m... yeah, I’m going to leave you alone for a while.” Grantaire doesn’t look at him as he leaves.

The door falls shut, leaving behind silence that seems so heavy that Courfeyrac might suffocate. The ECG increases its speed in accordance to his erratically beating heart and oh, Courfeyrac is suffocating now. Bad things are happening. Something terrible is happening

His hands are shaking and the letter is trembling, it’s hard to read through the tear-blurred vision, but Courfeyrac manages to get to the end, and he reads it again, and again, and again because maybe if he reads them often enough, if he refuses them often enough, they will become less real.

The blankets become constricting and he feels trapped in this bed, so he rips the IV from his hand, yanks away anything that is holding him to the bed and he gets up, because he needs to get out, he needs to go. He needs to find Marius. He needs to — he needs Marius.

His legs give out under his weight, still weakened but Courfeyrac is not stopping. He pushes himself towards the door, holding onto objects on his way, one step after another, even if it takes all the strength he could muster. The corridor is empty, and he leans against the walls to support his weight. His head is spinning and everything is aching, and he feels sick  but he keeps going. He needs to keep going because — Marius.

Marius. Marius. Marius.

He needs to find him. He needs —

Courfeyrac falls to the ground as his legs give out under him once again. It does not matter. He will crawl. He will get to Marius somehow because he won’t let Marius slip away. No, not like this. There is so much they have to talk about. So many things they still haven’t done together. It cannot end like this. Courfeyrac won’t let it. So he pushes himself forward, one inch at a time, and he is almost at the stairs, just a few metres, just a bit more.

He is crying. He knows because he feels warm hot tears down his face, how his vision is blurry and how his eyes are straining to hold it in. He must go on. He is almost there — he can’t stop now, he has to get to Marius because Marius is not here, because Marius is —

“Courfeyrac!”

Grantaire is there, and Grantaire is holding him, holding him, even though he is struggling.

“Hush, it’s all right. He’ll be all right,” Grantaire murmurs over and over again. “It will be all right. Hush.”

Courfeyrac stops struggling against Grantaire’s hold and lets himself be cradled, be rocked back and forth. Grantaire is murmuring reassurances into his hair, for Courfeyrac’s sake or his own, Courfeyrac cannot tell but when Grantaire’s grip tightens around him and his voice turns strained and broken and warm tears drip into his hair, Courfeyrac knows that Marius won’t be returning.

 

* * *

 

_My beloved Courfeyrac,_

_When this letter has reached you, then I must be gone long enough that you're not tempted to follow me._

_There are things that are far greater than ourselves and far from our control. Meeting you has been the best part of my life but dangers lurk wherever I am. I cannot make the same mistakes again and I hope you understand my reason. Don't think that I will ever think of the time we have spent together as a mistake but risking your life for my own selfish happiness is.  
_

_I will no longer put you and our friends in danger because I'm taking my leave now._

_Be well. Take care._

_Thank you for loving me._

_I love you. Farewell._

_Forever yours,_

_Marius._

**Author's Note:**

> This must be my longest finished fic so far. If you have read it till here, congratulations! This was actually planned to be only 1.5k at most, but here we are... Anyway, I hope you liked it! Leave a comment or drop by on my [tumblr!](https://decayingliberty.tumblr.com)


End file.
